


Good Company

by feralphoenix



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Spoilers - Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5225828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara's piano lessons continue. Undyne has an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [simplycarryon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplycarryon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [lessons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5022979) by [simplycarryon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplycarryon/pseuds/simplycarryon). 



> _(No one is ever ordinary._ – always turning pages there for you)
> 
> i'm throwing some of my own headcanons about chara and music into the piano-lessons-with-undyne scenario. you should read [lessons](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5022979) first for context, if you haven't read it yet!

“You’re picking this up pretty fast, squirt,” you say, planting your hands on your hips as you look over Chara’s shoulder with approval. “Color me impressed.”

Chara pauses with their fingers still on the keys, drawing out that D flat a breath longer while they crane their head back to look up at you. “Well, it helps when you can already read sheet music,” they say, their tone totally innocent. You’re not gonna tell them yet that doing that ruins their cover, mostly ‘cause it’s cute. “Instead of learning by, what was it, ‘mashing keys until stuff starts sounding right’.”

“Don’t you sass me, punk,” you retort, but you grin real big and keep your voice relaxed so they know you’re not actually mad. It seems to work: Chara just giggles at you. Honestly, you could freaking explode, you’re so proud of them. You offered them lessons just on a hunch, after seeing how they reacted to you playing, but they’re a million times more into it than even you dreamed they’d be. It’s actually really cool.

So you sit down on the bench next to them in the open space they’ve left, your back to the keys so you can still look at them. They’re completely and totally relaxed having you close, and affection joins pride to turn your whole heart into a warm mushy mess. Weeks ago, they’d have been wary, only forgetting themself in their occasional bursts of temper or concentration. They used to flinch at every little thing, and you mean _every_ little thing, up to and including the stuff they make bigger in their head than it is in real life.

(It reminds you, a little, of Alphys, and maybe that’s why you can’t leave Chara alone, when you really get down to it. They’ve got two different sets of issues—Alphys’ brain has got her constantly tearing herself down, and Chara’s just perpetually on alert against potential threats—but the shape their fear takes reminds you of her, and it wrenches at you. At least Alphys is a grown-ass adult. Chara’s just a goddamn kid.

This isn’t somebody else’s business to you. It can’t be.)

“Where’d you learn notation, anyway?” you ask, and Chara smiles a little lopsided at you.

“I actually studied some in school,” they say, and you raise your eyebrows because, what?? They don’t go to school, they have huge ugly panic meltdowns around too many humans—and then the realization comes like a punch to the stomach. “There was a thing in music class where they let us opt into instrument lessons—no piano, though, I did the viola. You learned more that way than just ordinary music class, we only had those once a week.” They shrug. To your critical eye, the gesture looks pained. “But I was never any good anyway.”

You hate having to stop and pick your words, but Chara deserves that from you. They bruise easy, and people have bruised them enough. “You’re pretty good now.”

“That’s because I’m learning from _you_ now, and you’re not…” Chara makes a face. They’re still smiling, but it’s bitter. “Okay, I’ll at least be fair to the teachers. They were right, I didn’t practice much. I didn’t want to go back _there_ anyway, that was why I got interested in taking lessons anyway, since they were after school. Was an excuse to stay. But. _Mysteriously,_ my things kept breaking whenever I went back _there._ And _mysteriously,_ they’d break at school too. If I didn’t bring them with me everywhere.” When they laugh, it’s watery. They take their hands off the piano keys, pull one sleeve down to pick at a scab. “So. Got kicked out. Waste of equipment. Wasn’t any good anyway. Not worth it, they said.”

“That really fucking sucks,” you tell them. “It wasn’t your fault.”

They scrunch up their face and then nod. They’re still picking. You shift your weight and reach around, slowly prying their hand away from their arm.

“Hey, leave yourself alone,” you chide, gentle as you can. “Wanna take a break? You can chop some veggies up or something while I make tea.”

Chara nods. They’ve gone totally silent now. Shit. At least they let you lead them to the cutting board without protest, their scarred-up little hand rough and warm against yours.

You get out the golden flower tea bags while the kettle boils, because Chara is the only one of your friends other than Asgore who’s actually got good taste. (Apparently even when Frisk asked for golden flower tea way back when, it was because Chara had specifically insisted on it? That’s kind of hilarious, and also cool??)

Meanwhile, Chara cuts up carrots and potatoes, which you can use for cooking lessons with Papyrus later. You leave them to it. They’re fine as long as you actually give them direction and something to work out their urges on—they’ve never had a single incident at your house, and you’re smug as hell about that.

“Hey kid,” you say once the sound of knife on cutting board is rhythmic and even instead of stilted and vicious. “Here’s an idea for you. How about once you’re ready to swing this concert plan of ours, we go out and get you your own viola to celebrate?”

The knife sounds stop. Chara’s on your bad side now, so you have to turn to check on them, but when you do they’re just goggling at you, wide-eyed.

“It’ll be fun, we’ll have a whole second way to play together that way,” you start, but they’re still staring like you’ve started speaking another language, so you let your grin fade. “See, I think as long as you’re up for it, you oughtta take it back. Like _this,”_ you gesture to knife in their hands, and they slowly turn their head down towards it; “music’s yours now too. You’ve got a whole new life and a ton of potential, Chara. You’ve got loads of options! Just let us know what you want to try. If this sounds like a thing you want—”

Their head snaps up again, red-brown hair whipping around. They’re pink-cheeked. Starry-eyed. You’re already starting to grin in anticipation, adrenaline flooding your whole body.

“Yeah,” they say, and again, wondering, excited: _“Yeah!”_

“Heck yeah!!” you yell back, raising your clenched fist towards the ceiling just because.

You are so fond of this kid.


End file.
